


The Undergraduate

by rabidchild67



Category: Actor RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, First Time, Loss of Virginity, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Virgin!Chris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 11:49:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7616962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance encounter leads to the best night of a young man’s life. This is based on a story shared by Chris in <a href="http://www.elle.com/culture/celebrities/interviews/a37331/cherchez-la-femme-chris-pine/">this interview</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Undergraduate

**Author's Note:**

> For Trekbedtimestories
> 
> Also, in case anyone needs a [visual reference for this tartlet](http://rabidchild67.tumblr.com/post/146716807102)…

“Mrs… Mrs. Roberts? Is that—“ Chris could feel his cheeks heat as he recognized his family’s old neighbor.

“Chrissy? Is it really you? My how you’ve grown! But it’s Espinoza now. _Ms._ Espinoza—Peter and I are divorced. At last.”

“Oh, really? That’s a bummer,” Chris said, feeling a surge of emotion at the news. She and her husband ( _ex_ -husband) had always seemed so well-suited; both intellectuals and so smart Chris sometimes had to find a dictionary to look up some of the words they’d use. She had been one of the few people to encourage his love of reading early on.

“Is it? Though?” she tucked a strand of her dark bob behind her ear. Her laugh was like crystal, bright and clear.

“I guess not.”

“What brings you here?”

“I’m working. That is, I’m volunteering. They get the younger members to work in the theater for performances—keeps the budget down.”

“I didn’t know you were acting?”

“I’m not. I mean, not yet, I’m only a freshman, and I’m not all that good.”

“Oh, I’ll bet you are.” Her dark eyes glittered. “Runs in the family, right?”

“G-gosh. May-maybe,” he stammered. “What brings you here? This isn’t exactly the kind of theater I’d expect you to go to.”

“Don’t underestimate me! But really, I was in town visiting my niece, and her boyfriend is directing, I think.” Chris made a face. “Don’t you like the director?”

“He didn’t cast me, so no.” They shared a laugh. “I’d better let you get to your seat. Here’s a program, enjoy the show, Ms. Espinoza.”

Her fingers brushed over his as she took the pamphlet, which had been designed to look like a really cheap Playbill ripoff. “And Chrissy, it’s Pamela,” she said.

“Pamela.” He rolled the syllables in his mouth. “Pamela. And it’s ‘Chris’ now, Pamela,” he added, blushing at his audacity; he hoped the low lighting in the theater hid it.

She laughed again, and touched him lightly on his wrist. “Chris then. I’ll see you later.”

He tried not to stare at the swing of her hips as she made her way down the steps to her row, and told himself he was just looking out for her safety. Those heels were pretty high.

\----

“They’ve got you selling merchandise too?”

Chris looked down at the 6-foot table and cash box that served as the theater’s merchandising area. “The director’s dad owns a t-shirt company or something. Did you want one?”

“Does the Pope shit in the woods?”

He laughed, more at hearing her swear than the joke. “We’re not selling many.”

“I’m surprised you’re selling any.”

“He’s got a large family.”

They grinned at each other. “Listen, I think your mother wouldn’t forgive me if I left and didn’t offer to take you out for a proper dinner. If dining hall food’s as bad now as when I went to school, you probably need it.”

“It’s not so bad, but I will not turn down an offer of free food.”

“You always were smart. No wonder you got into Berkeley.”

He shrugged. “I’m just always hungry.”

“I remember that too. Do you think you can get off early?”

“Now? Sure. Will your niece be joining us?”

“She’s got something else planned, I think. Just the two of us, if that’s OK.”

“Fine by me. I’ll just find someone to cover and get my jacket.”

\----

She took him to a place that was way fancier than his attire would have warranted, but since it was Berkeley it didn’t much matter. The place was all white linens and terra cotta tile, the cuisine French fusion, though it wasn’t clear what it was supposed to have been fused with.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a feta soufflé before,” Chris said.

“I don’t think you ever shall, it sounds flavorless. You should get the escargot for a starter and the sea bass for your main.”

“OK…”

“I’m sorry, did you not want me to make a recommendation?”

“No, it’s just that everything’s so expensive.”

“Order what you like, darling, Mr. Roberts still pays my credit card.”

When they brought the wine, they set down two glasses and Pamela didn’t correct them. She tasted the vintage and watched attentively as the sommelier poured a measure for Chris and more for her, then placed the bottle in the ice bucket and left.

Chris sniffed at his glass.

“What are you detecting?” she asked.

“I dunno, wine?”

She smiled. “Try again, let the aroma waft toward your nose.”

He closed his eyes and waited, then breathed in; he detected something bright, like grass, with an underlying note of warmth, like vanilla. “But that sounds stupid,” he said after he’d said it.

“Not stupid at all. Now taste it. Small sip, and let it sit on your tongue for a bit.”

He did as she instructed, preparing to not like it. He had always disliked the harshness of the “Two Buck Chuck” he’d gotten away with stealing from his parents’ liquor cabinet in the past, taking it on dates with high school girlfriends, trying to impress them.  But this wine was not harsh or sour, it was smooth on his tongue, and elegant, with undertones of fruits he could not name properly. “It’s good!”

She looked happy. “Tremendous.”

“Will the sea bass go with it?”

She nodded.

“Then that’s what I’ll have.’

\----

They shared an espresso crème brulee and snifter of brandy for dessert. Pamela was enjoying most of the brandy and Chris most of the custard. “You’re a little drunk, I think,” she observed with a knowing smile.

Sure he was, but he didn’t like to be so transparent. “What makes you say that?” he asked slowly.

“You keep smiling. And your right eyelid lags behind your left when you blink.”

He beamed at her, and blinked, and laughed when he noticed the lag. “I am, I’m a little drunk.”

“Oh, I’ve corrupted you,” she said, her mouth quirking.

“I’m corruptible.”

“Good.”

He blinked again, trying to get his eyes back in synch, unsuccessfully, before pronouncing, “I should walk you home.”

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around? I _am_ the adult.”

“Chivalry, maybe.”

“Oh, well then!” she said with a light laugh.

Once outside, he stood beside her with his elbow jutting out slightly, just like his dad did with his mom. It felt natural for her to slip her small hand inside his elbow, walking up the street as if they did it every day. “Where to, madam?”

“I’m staying at the Claremont,” she said, and he smoothly turned them at the next corner, heading in the direction of the classic old hotel. The coolness of the November air was like a tonic on his flushed skin, and soon he felt sober again. Eventually he began pointing out interesting sites to her, like his favorite off-campus bookstore and the coffee place with the best pastries.

“This is a lovely town, your parents must be so proud of you.”

“I think Dad would have wanted me to choose Columbia, but Mom likes me in the same time zone.”

“I don’t blame her. And how do you like being away at college? You have friends?”

“Yeah, sure,” he replied, his back stiffening.

“I won’t tell your parents if you don’t want me to. What’s wrong?”

He bit his lip. “It’s just that… it hasn’t been easy making friends here, not like I thought it would be. I miss my old friends a lot. I miss having them to hang out with.”

She stopped walking and faced him, taking his hands in hers. Her hands were warm, and soft; her nail polish was the palest pink he had ever seen. “I know it can seem hard, but you’ll find your way.” She cupped his cheek in her palm, for emphasis, to be sure he looked into her eyes. “You’re such a fine, smart person, Chris. People can’t help but be drawn to you.”

There was something about brown eyes, he decided, something deep and enthralling and mysterious that he’d always been drawn to. In the soft light emanating from the fairy lights strung in the trees along the sidewalk, hers were the color of the burnt sugar that had coated the top of his dessert earlier in the evening. Impulsively, he kissed her.

The moment their lips met, his mind screamed at him to abort—surely he had misread her. He pulled away, a “Sorry!” already on his lips. But as he watched, the pupils of her eyes dilated wide, and she slid her hand around the back of his neck to pull him in for another.

Her kisses were hard and passionate, her mouth assailing his with what felt like bruising force, short hard kisses punctuated with small bites on his lips. He’d never experienced anything like it; he was going to need bandages before long. He pulled away, gasping for breath.

“How far is the hotel?” she asked.

“Another couple blocks?”

She took his hand and led him down the street.

\----

“Oh my god!” Chris gasped as Pamela dragged her fingernails down his chest and belly. He looked down in time to see the white lines they left turn red. He looked up at her, mouth agape. This had already escalated far beyond his wildest dreams—Mrs.- _fucking_ -Roberts, a woman so beyond his wildest imaginings he would not have dared to use her in his spank bank, much less this— _THIS_. Chalk it all up to the wine emboldening him or whatever, but he still couldn’t believe he’d had the audacity to kiss her. And now—

“I need to touch as much of you as possible,” she explained.

“’s’okay,” he said, double-checking that she hadn’t drawn blood.

“Come here,” she ordered. “God, look at you, look at your body,” she marveled.

Chris blushed down to his hair. He _had_ been doing more crunches.

Her hand rested on his belly. “You’re so smooth. I didn’t think people came this smooth.”

Chris had always bemoaned his lack of chest hair. “Really?”

She pushed him up against the hotel suite’s door with a bang, her mouth continuing its unrelenting plunder of his; he was going to need a lot of Chapstick in the morning. She pressed her body against his, thigh to chest, her proximity about the only thing keeping him on his feet.

She dropped a hand and palmed his dick through his pants. He whined into her mouth —very undignified—and she pulled back, smiling, a mischievous gleam in her eye. “What have we here?”

He didn’t know if he should answer; it turned out to be the right move. He watched as, practically in slow-mo, she sank to her knees and pressed her open mouth against the head of his leaking hard-on. The remains of her lipstick left a stain on the khaki fabric, and a part of his brain wondered if he’d need to do anything special when he did his laundry, to get it out. That part of his brain quickly shut down the moment she undid his pants and brought out his dick.

All muscle control seemed to leave his body as the wet heat of her mouth enveloped him, so much so that he had to lock his knees to keep from sliding to the floor. “Aah-ahh-argle,” he said, or something very much like it, as she swallowed him, her head bobbing as she went down on him. The sight of it was nearly enough to short circuit his brain.

“Oh my god, stop,” he gasped, “or I’ll shoot.”

She pulled off and squinted up at him. “You sound like a cheesy cop show or something.”

He goggled at her.

She grinned and got to her feet, kissing him briefly before turning her back on him. “Get my zipper?” she asked, peering over her shoulder at him as she lifted her hair off her neck.

He raised shaking hands to paw at the zipper of her dress, easing it down her back as best he could. It should not have been a surprise that she wore literally nothing under the dress, but Chris was not a person to overly consider such things. Perhaps he was now. She let the dress fall to the floor and stepped out of the pool of fabric wearing nothing but her high heels and a coy smile. She walked to the bedroom and Chris watched her go, the sway of her hips mesmerizing him. She disappeared inside, and Chris stood there, unable to move for long moments, unbelieving that this was happening.

“There you are,” she said when he’d finally made the move across the suite, letting his pecker lead him like some ridiculous compass. She lay against the pillows in the exact center of the bed, gloriously naked. Chris swallowed; he had never seen anything like this, even in the pornos his roommate sometimes shared with him.

She had her eyes on his dick. “My goodness, how you’ve grown up, Chrissy. Such a _big_ boy.”

He looked down on himself. “Really?”

She nodded. “You want to take your pants off?”

“OK.” He realized too late he also had his shoes on, so he kicked them off along with the pants. He looked back up at her and she smiled encouragingly. He approached the bed.

She rose to her knees and moved to meet him at the foot of the bed, and kissed him. His dick, trapped between them now, twitched. He groaned, a little desperately. He was overstimulated, his entire body thrumming. He was afraid he was going to come; he was afraid he’d ruin this before it even began.

She seemed to sense this and backed off, then half-turned to get a leg on the floor. Before he knew it, she had turned him around, and was kissing him again, easing him down and onto the bed.  She straddled his knees, and from out of nowhere produced a condom. “Let’s get down to brass tacks, yeah?” she said as she tore the package open with her teeth and removed it. He gasped when she took firm hold of him and put it on in a practiced movement, then looked up at him, eyebrow raised, eyes glittering like a hawk.

“Move up the bed,” she ordered.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied instinctively.

She grinned. Her teeth looked really white and really sharp. He scrambled up the bed and lay with his shoulders against the pillows. She followed. He noticed she still had her shoes on. She slowly crawled up his body, straddling him on hands and knees, dipping her belly down to graze his dick. He had to close his eyes, to concentrate, trying to hold out. His dick was so hard, he wanted to cry.

When she spoke again, he felt it before he heard it. “You ready for me?”

His eyes flew open to find hers mere inches away. She didn’t wait for his answer, just moved backwards, reached behind to steady his dick, then slid down, slowly, as she took him in.

Tight, hot, wet—all those were words he could use to describe the sensation of her around him—but they were not enough. How were words enough to cover the emotion welling in his chest that threatened to break him, the indefinable feeling of striving toward something and holding back, the way every nerve ending in his body, every sinew, every corpuscle, was now tuned to what was happening in that moment. All he could do was moan, whine, sigh, and it would never be enough.

It was dark, had he closed his eyes again? He had. Opening them, he saw Pamela perched in his lap, her hips undulating, as if performing some sort of erotic dance. Judging by the look on her face, it wasn’t just for his benefit. Each time she ground against him, her breathing hitched. Chris reached for her, wanting to feel her sweat-slicked skin beneath his fingertips. She took his hands and guided them to her breasts, smooth and soft mounds in his too-large hands, her nipples standing out hard and plump ginst his palms. He didn’t resist the urge to squeeze one between the joins of two of his fingers. She bucked on top of him, crying out.

“Yes, more of that. _Yes_ ,” she urged, covering his hands with hers and urging him on. He obliged, rolling one nipple between his fingertips, and was more than a little startled when she screamed.

“Ah! What the—“ he said, pulling his hands away, but she was laughing and smiling, and leaned forward to kiss him.

“It’s all right. All right,” she said into his mouth, breathless. “You feel like you want to fuck me now?” she asked in a low voice.

He looked at her blankly. Weren’t they already—

“I can’t do all the work, boy.”

“Oh, oh yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes at his stupidity. He braced his hands on her hips and thrust up into her. 

“Faster,” she breathed. “ _Harder_.”

He obliged, his hips snapping up again and again, over and over. She leaned back, braced herself on his knee with one hand and slid the other down to tease at herself as he fucked up into her.

“God, don’t stop,” she hissed as she worked herself.

“I don’t know how long I can last,” he said.

“Don’t stop,” she said again. It was more like an order, and he didn’t want to disappoint her. He closed his eyes one last time, concentrated on what he was doing—and what he was supposed to not do—but despite all his efforts, he failed. He came a moment later, his hips thrusting up one last time, body as taut as a bowstring.

“Breathe, baby,” she said, laying a soft hand on his face, and Chris let out the breath he held, panting as he waited for his galloping heart to settle itself down.   

“Wow, that was—“ his words were cut off by her lips as she kissed him, softer this time.

“Yes, it was,” she said like a purr as she got off and stretched out beside him.

\----

Chris woke the next morning blinking at the sunlight streaming into the hotel room through the open curtains. Had they been open the night before? He couldn’t remember. God, he hoped not—they were only on the fourth floor and there were plenty of other buildings nearby. He stretched and sat up in the bed, the sheets falling around his hips.

Pamela was nowhere to be seen, but her side of the bed was still warm.

“So… that happened,” Chris said softly to himself, a wide, happy grin suddenly the only emotion he was capable of feeling. “I am the man. I am a man.”

“What was that?”

Pamela emerged from the bathroom, clad in a fluffy hotel bathrobe and with her hair in a towel, clearly fresh from the shower.

“Nothing,” Chris chirped, trying and failing to keep the smile off his face.

“Somebody’s chipper,” she said, smiling back. In the morning light, and with no makeup on, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Yeah. I had a really great time last night.”

“I’m glad to hear it. So did I.” She sat at the vanity and found a small tube of something, screwed the cap off and applied something to her face—moisturizer Chris guessed.

“Thanks for dinner and stuff.”

She looked up into the mirror and smiled at him. “Mostly the stuff?”

All he could do was grin back. “You were amazing.”

“You weren’t so bad yourself. You’ve got some unexpected _talents_ there, Mr. Pine. I’ll bet all those girls you’ve been with could tell me a few tales.”

Chris looked away, his face reddening. “Um…”

“What don’t tell me you were a virgin or something, I’ll never believe it.”

“Well…”

She spun around on the small stool she sat on. “Don’t tell me you were a virgin,” she repeated slowly.

“Not anymore?”

Her face went pale. “Oh my god.”

“What?”

“What have I done to you?”

He looked down on himself; he was fully intact—the scratches from the night before had nearly faded away. “Nothing.”

“I’ve taken something from you, something not meant for me.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did, I did! When one jokes about corrupting a minor, one doesn’t intend to corrupt a minor!”

“I’m 19.”

She covered her face with both hands. “What kind of a monster am I? Oh, your poor mother.”

Chris wondered what he’d said that could have upset her. He got out of the bed and went to her, crouching in front of her and taking her hands in his. “You’re no monster, I was 100% on board with it.”

“Oh god, cover yourself,” she said, glancing at his crotch. Removing the wet towel from her head, she dropped it into his lap.

He did his best, but the thing was wet and cold.

“You’re so pretty,” she said, touching his face and then pulling her hand back self-consciously.

Up close, he saw she still had a light smear of mascara or whatever high on her cheekbone. He cupped her cheek with his hand and rubbed it away with his thumb. “So are you.”

“You’re so sweet to the woman who’s stolen your innocence.”

“I am no innocent.”

“That’s what I mean, you don’t even know it,” she fretted.

“Will you stop it? Amy Sheridan put her mouth on me once. And so did her brother.” Pamela’s eyebrow shot up. “Not on the same night.”

“Of course not.”

“What I mean is, I’ve had _some_ amount of experience, I knew what I was getting into, and we had a good time. Why do we have to put so much weight on it?”

She smiled at last, and the tight, upset feeling in Chris’s chest loosened. “I suppose you’re right. When you think back on this, remember me fondly.”

Chris could tell he’d be remembering it _a lot_.

“If you need to call me and talk about this, I'll give be in town a few more nights. You're welcome to come by later if you're feeling uncomfortable.”

“I think I’ll be fine.” His stomach rumbled and he looked up at her, embarrassed. “More or less.”

“Hungry? Of course you are.”

“I’m a growing boy.”

“Oh god, can we not go there yet?”

He laughed and deepened his voice as he spoke, “I mean _man_ , I’m a hungry, hungry _man_.”

She stared at him a beat before laughing herself. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

\----

Thank you for your time.

 


End file.
